#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
They die—the dead return not—Mise… Sits near an open grave and calls… A Youth with hoary hair and hagga… They are the names of kindred, fri… Which he so feebly calls—they all…
A shovel of his ashes took From the hearth’s obscurest nook, Muttering mysteries as she went. Helen and Henry knew that Granny Was as much afraid of Ghosts as a…
The death knell is ringing The raven is singing The earth worm is creeping The mourners are weeping Ding dong, bell—
Fierce roars the midnight storm O’er the wild mountain, Dark clouds the night deform, Swift rolls the fountain— See! o’er yon rocky height,
Dares the lama, most fleet of the… The lion to rouse from his skull-c… When the tiger approaches can the… Repose trust in his footsteps of a… No! Abandoned he sinks in a tranc…
Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on t… Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a differ… And ever changing, like a joyless…
It lieth, gazing on the midnight s… Upon the cloudy mountain-peak supi… Below, far lands are seen tremblin… Its horror and its beauty are divi… Upon its lips and eyelids seems to…
Come, be happy!'sit near me, Shadow-vested Misery: Coy, unwilling, silent bride, Mourning in thy robe of pride, Desolation’deified!
Thou art fair, and few are fairer Of the Nymphs of earth or ocean; They are robes that fit the wearer… Those soft limbs of thine, whose m… Ever falls and shifts and glances
And where is truth? On tombs? for… Has been my heart—and thy dead mem… Has lain from childhood, many a ch… Unchangingly preserved and buried…
From The Italian Of Dante Ye who intelligent the Third Heav… Hear the discourse which is within… Which cannot be declared, it seems… The Heaven whose course follows y…
And said I that all hope was fled… That sorrow and despair were mine, That each enthusiast wish was dead… Had sank beneath pale Misery’s sh… Seest thou the sunbeam’s yellow gl…
Wilt thou forget the happy hours Which we buried in Love’s sweet… Heaping over their corpses cold Blossoms and leaves, instead of mo… Blossoms which were the joys that…
I rode one evening with Count Mad… Upon the bank of land which breaks… Of Adria towards Venice: a bare s… Of hillocks, heap’d from ever-shif… Matted with thistles and amphibiou…
The odour from the flower is gone Which like thy kisses breathed on… The colour from the flower is flow… Which glowed of thee and only thee… II.
